Getting dry
by Shannanigans
Summary: More post-MBV fluff. Sick Sam, caring Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, yet another one-shot after MBV. Pure fluff. Reviews are welcomed, but remember – please be nice! I have thin skin. **** I've never used a Beta, I think I am too shy to ask. Perhaps I should though. Thoughts? Thanks! ~Shannon**

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This time… withdrawal took longer, hurt more and just plain sucked worse. He had to _finish_ this time. Last time he managed to escape, like an idiot, and he also escaped complete withdrawal. This time, when he was finished, he was weak, dirty and exhausted. He felt sick… not just sick, he felt defeated. He couldn't look Dean in the eyes. His big brother helped him up the stairs and into the bathroom. Sam knew that Dean was right outside the door as he slowly climbed out of his disgusting clothes and into the shower for the first time in a week. He let the water run over him for a few minutes, relishing the hot steam. He grabbed the soap and proceeded to scrub. He basically scrubbed until his skin was raw. He still, somehow, felt dirty. After his shower, he brushed his teeth until he was spitting blood. _Spitting blood. _He worried it was still in him. He wrapped a towel around his waist and exited the bathroom, walking past Dean and shutting himself into their room. Dean had left his bag on his bed. Sam grabbed a clean pair of jeans, boxers and a t-shirt. Anything else was too much. He was still sweating out a bit of a fever. He opened the door. Looking down, anything to avoid eye contact just yet, he asked Dean, "What now?"

Dean lightly squeezed Sam's shoulder, sad his brother wouldn't look at him. "Now you eat something."

"Dean, I… I'm not sure I can yet." Sam mumbled.

"It's okay Sammy. I'll make you some toast and tea." Dean spoke quietly and steadily as he guided Sam down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Sam slumped into the closest chair and sighed. "How can you look at me, Dean? How can you call me Sammy?"

"Sam, stop. Just… stop. You weren't the only person affected by Famine. Hell, look at Cas. He dug into that trough of raw hamburger like a freaking vulture." Dean spoke quieter now. "I'm not mad. I'm not disappointed. I'm sorry you were put in that position and knowing you… you are being harder on yourself than I ever could be. Let's just get you better and try to keep moving. We've got work to do."

Sam looked up. He looked into Dean's eyes for the first time in days. He saw forgiveness and sorrow. He didn't see hate or disappointment. Sam muffled a cry and put his head into his hands.

Dean walked to Sam's side, once again squeezing his shoulder and then proceeded to grab a cup and a kettle for Sam's tea. Turning around once the tea and toast was finished Dean was not surprised to see Sam asleep at the table. Dried tears stained his cheeks as his under-eye circles just got darker. Dean hated to wake him, but he knew Sam hadn't properly eaten in days. Setting the tea and plate on the table he spoke calmly, "Sammy, I need you to try and keep some of this down now."

Sam rubbed his eyes and looked around, slowly recognizing Bobby's kitchen. He remembered where he was and why. He picked up the mug of tea with both hands. Shaking like a leaf, he brought the cup of tea up to his lips. He felt the warm liquid travel down his throat and into his stomach. He willed it to stay down. He cleared his throat tentatively, "where's Bobby?"

"He's in town on a supply run. He should be back tomorrow." Dean replied as he sat across from Sam. He didn't want to be far in case Sam couldn't hold the mug; he could see what a hard time he was having.

"Oh", Sam replied quietly as he put the cup on the table and tried to pick up the piece of dry toast. He was shaking so much that he dropped it twice before grasping it and bringing it up to his mouth. He was nervous, but took a small bite. He began to cough as the crumbs invaded his throat. As he tried to grasp his mug again, it fell from his hands. Luckily it fell straight down and only spilled a few drops. He tried going for it again, only to realize that Dean was now standing behind him holding his hands in his as they grasped the cup. Together they brought it to his lips and he took a long gulp, ending the coughing fit. After they placed the cup back down on the table, Dean walked back over to his side and sat back down, not saying a word or acting as though anything unusual had happened. Sam was grateful that Dean seemed to inherently know what he needed and when. As usual. "I uh, I think that is all I can do for now Dean."

Dean nodded, happy that Sam had gotten a little something down. "Do you want to go upstairs to sleep?"

"I don't think I can go that far. How about the couch?" Sam said looking down, ashamed at how weak he felt.

"Sure, Sam. If you change your mind, I can always help you upstairs." Dean walked over to Sam, gently grabbed a hold of his arm and walked him to the living room couch. He put a pillow under Sam's head and pulled a throw from the recliner onto Sam's long form. Sam was asleep within minutes.

Dean watched Sam sleep for a few minutes; he just needed to make sure his brother was okay. When he felt assured, he went into the kitchen to clean up Sam's "breakfast". He then sat in Bobby's old recliner and grabbed an automotive magazine and began to read, his mind (and body) never far from Sam.

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About an hour later, Dean was flipping through television channels while the TV was on mute. He wasn't really watching, merely keeping himself occupied. Sam began to toss and turn, moaning in his sleep. Dean knelt down next to Sam's head and soothingly ran his fingers through Sam's hair, _sentiment be damned. His brother needed him now_. Sam flung his body up and began to wipe furiously at his hands and mouth. "Dean! Dean, get if off me! I can't get it off! There's so much blood! So much!" With that Sam began to scratch at his face in his desperation.

Dean grabbed his brother's hands and said his name over and over. "Sam. Sammy. Stay with me here dude. Look at me. You are okay. There's no blood. There's no blood Sammy." He did his best to stay calm for his panicked brother.

Sam's breathing slowed as he looked into Dean's eyes. Refocusing, he looked down at his own hands and saw the lack of blood where there was so much only a moment before. "N… no blood?"

"Nope Sammy. None. Now why don't you do me a favor and lay back down." Sam's sleepy mind did as it was told. He lay back down onto the couch. Dean kept a hold of one of Sam's hands to keep him grounded as he sat on the floor beside the couch. As sleep overtook Sam once again, Dean quietly told every happy story/memory he could recall from their childhood. Sam fell into a deep sleep dreaming of diners, ugly motel room wallpaper and invented games he and his brother had made up as children. Hours after Dean had run out of stories and his voice had become hoarse, he continued to hold Sam's hand as he read aloud from a pile of automotive magazines.

Dean hadn't even realized that he had fallen asleep, when the sound of his cell phone woke him. He laughed a bit at himself when he saw that he had been sound asleep with his head on Sam's arm. He grabbed his cell, attempting to not wake Sam, and headed out onto the porch. He saw Bobby's name on the caller ID, and answered. "Bobby, what's up?"

"Hey boy, how's Sam?" Bobby had a one-track mind when it came to the Winchesters.

"Well, thanks for asking, I'm fine." Dean laughed as Bobby huffed his displeasure. "He's okay Bobby. He's upstairs, he's showered and has eaten a few bites. He's still really weak."

"How is he… mentally?" Bobby hesitated.

"He's… having a hard time. He wouldn't even look at me the first hour. I'm pretty sure he will slowly but surely come around." Dean said with hope in his voice.

"Good… good. I think I oughtta give you boys a bit more time alone together. I don't want to remind Sam of his last encounter with blood withdrawal. I've got more stuff I can take care of here in town. Why don't I come home in a couple of days?"

"Bobby, you don't have to do that. You are family too. Sam would like to see you, I'm sure of it."

Bobby paused, "I'm glad to hear that Dean. But just the same, I want to give Sam more time."

"Okay man. Thanks. I'll tell Sammy you were asking about him and that you are looking forward to seeing him in a couple of days."

The two men wrapped up the conversation, and Dean walked back inside.

Sam was just waking up, his eyes searching the room for Dean. When he saw his brother, he sighed in relief. "How long was I out for?"

Dean glanced down at his watch. "It's been 4 hours. Not bad Sam!"

Sam smiled as he tried to stand. "Thirsty".

Dean watched his brother struggle to stand, resisting the urge to help him. He wanted to see if Sam had improved from their siesta. However, his restraint didn't last long as Sam's eyes rolled back into his head and he pitched forward on a fast track to the hard floor of Bobby's living room. "Sam!"

Dean reached Sam in time to slow his descent to the ground. He held Sam's head in his lap and gently shook his brother. "Sammy? Sam? Are you okay?!"

After a moment, Sam's eyes began to move around under his closed eyelids. Slowly they opened to little slits. "Wha?" Sam looked up at Dean and then down to his own body lying on the floor.

"You're okay man, you passed out for a second. I think you are really dehydrated Sam. We need to get some liquids and food into you right now." Dean looked worriedly into Sam's eyes.

"Thirsty." Sam repeated his pre-swan-dive sentiment.

Dean chuckled, "Okay Sammy. Up we go." Dean gently lifted Sam to a seated position, gave him a moment to adjust, and then helped him to a standing position. He never let go of his hold on Sam. He sat him down in Bobby's recliner, not wanting a weak Sam to sit at the kitchen table. He handed him a bottle of water and sat next to his brother as he drank. He reminded Sam to take his time, afraid of the water making a quick reappearance. Once he was sure Sam was okay, he went into the kitchen and cut up some fruit and placed it in a bowl. _Fruit has water in it, right?_ he thought, as he handed the bowl to Sam. From here on out, he was going to do whatever it took to get Sam better. Holding a passed-out Sam was too similar to holding a dead Sam. Dean shivered with the thought.

Grabbing another bottle of water for Sam and one for himself, Dean sat near Sam on the couch. "How you feeling?"

Sam put down his fork, his hands still shaking, "a bit better, I guess."

"Good. After you eat and drink that, upstairs for a nap, up for dinner and then we are going to sit outside for a bit before bed. You look like you could use some fresh air."

"Kay mom." Sam laughed weakly.

"Dude, you faint like that again, and I'll go 'Mommy Dearest' on your ass." Dean growled harmlessly.

"No more wire hangers…ever. Got it. Can I have some more water?" Sam smiled as he finished the latest bottle. Sometimes hunters watched way too much television, he thought.

Dean gave Sam a completely fake servant-like bow and headed back into the kitchen.

Sam knew he didn't deserve it… yet. But he felt loved. He was cared-for, which is the best medicine on the planet. He felt stronger already.


	2. Chapter 2

**I was flattered when I was asked to continue this. I hope this doesn't disappoint! Thanks for reading.  
~Shannon **

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Dean laughed, "Well, someone needs to contact Alanis. That's what I call… ironic!"

**One day earlier – **

Sam was getting better after his stint in the panic room. Dean nursed him back to health and forgave him, just the same. Sure, he wasn't feeling 100%, but things like this take time… right?

They had left Bobby's when Sam assured Dean that he was up for travelling again. Dean agreed, but silently maintained his belief that Sam wasn't "hunt ready". They decided to use this time to increase their knowledge of the whole Michael/Lucifer situation.

Sam was sitting on the motel bed, surrounded by about six different versions of the bible and several notebooks. Dean walked in holding a fast food bag and a drink holder. "Time for a break, Sammy. You need to eat and drink something. Remember our deal, dude?"

Sam laughed as he pushed himself up to join Dean at the small table by the window of their room. "I remember the deal, mommy dearest. What didja get me?"

"I know you are still looking for 'calm' foods, whatever the hell that means. So I got you a grilled chicken salad and an iced tea. Meanwhile I've got the number 7 with a Coke."

Sam didn't need to ask about the number 7. He could smell the bacon and… was that salsa?... on the burger.

After lunch, Sam returned to his research while absentmindedly chewing on the ice from his tea.

"Dude!" Dean yelled. "Wouldja mind not doing that? Number one, it's annoying. Number two, all your teeth are gonna fall out!"

"Uh, sorry. Didn't even realize I was doing it. Get back to your research, grumpy. I'll get back to mine." Sam smiled.

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Dean looked up from his research twenty minutes later. Sam was out cold… again. _He sure does need a lot of rest since his last trip to the basement_, Dean thought sadly. It was 9 p.m., a little too early to go to bed, but Dean thought, _what the hell. A good night's sleep will do us both good._ He removed the bibles and notebooks from Sam's bed and covered him up with several blankets. Sam stirred, but didn't wake. Dean took a shower, read for a while and was asleep by 11 p.m.

Dean woke to the sounds of the maid cleaning the room next door. Glancing over at the alarm clock, he was surprised to see it was 9 a.m. _Huh_, he thought, _guess we needed it_. He looked over at Sam's bed expecting to see it empty, hoping he had gone on a coffee run. Sam was still in the same position, snuggled under several covers, still deeply asleep. _I guess it's my turn to get the coffee. I'll let him get some more rest. He obviously needs it._ Dean glanced back at Sam's sleeping form as he left the room, making sure the "Do not disturb" sign was in place.

When he returned at 10, Sam was still asleep. After checking on him to make sure he was breathing (you never can be too careful), Dean decided to see just how long Sammy needed to sleep. Dean sipped his coffee, ate his donuts and caught up on research.

_Ugh_, Sam thought, it can't _be morning already_. He turned onto his back from his side and stretched his arms and legs, trying to wake up. Honestly, he thought about turning over and going right back to bed, but he and Dean had stuff to do.

"Mornin' princess. Sleep well?" Dean asked (_way too chipper this early_, Sam thought).

Sam looked at Dean with the confused look of the newly awakened. "Wha' time 'sit?"

"So eloquent, Sammy. Actually, I was gettin' a bit worried. It's noon dude. You've been sleeping for 15 hours." Dean got up to sit at the foot of Sam's bed. "You doin' okay?"

"M'fine. Dean. Just tired." Sam said as he lay back down into the comfy pillows. Gradually he sat back up again and headed towards the bathroom, rubbing his eyes and walking with the graceful gait of a toddler learning his first steps.

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After Sam's shower, he and Dean headed out for some lunch. Sam annoyingly chewed on his ice while Dean checked out all of the waitresses and female patrons of the diner. As they got up to leave, Dean noticed Sam's exhausted actions and paleness. "Tired Sam?"

"Nah, I'm good. Maybe I slept too long." Sam thought aloud. Before heading back to their motel, the boys decided to check out the local library. Dean was walking behind him down the stairs when Sam fell.

"Sam!" Dean yelled as he ran down the last few steps to check on his brother. Sam was looking around dazedly, wondering what in the heck just happened.

Sam let Dean help him up. He was embarrassed enough without Dean fussing over him. He looked around the library, feeling lucky that it was largely unoccupied, just a few employees here and there. "Dean, I'm fine. I… I musta' missed a step. Just got clumsy for a second," Sam said as his face reddened.

Dean looked with worry at Sam's tired face. "Okay man, just try not to do that again. You scared the crap out of me! Sam looked at Dean with a pained expression, so Dean quickly self-corrected. "Not just me dude, that old lady behind the counter dropped her walker!" He smirked at Sam and headed toward the World Religions section of the stacks, all the while keeping Sam in his sights.

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After hours at the library, the guys decided to give it up for the day. Dean suggested stopping at the neighborhood grill and bar for dinner. He wanted to make sure Sam had a good meal in him. After a stupid joke about Sam actually turning into a chicken, Dean let him order the chicken sandwich and fries. Dean ordered the fried chicken sandwich with fries and two beers for him and Sam. A little less than an hour later, they were deep in conversation about Bobby's hat collection when Sam started to lightly slur his words. Sam blinked exaggeratedly, eyes wide, "whew! I am gettin' tired, man!" Dean rolled his eyes, he knew Sam was a light-weight, but – _one beer? Seriously? _

"Okay old man, let's get you back to the motel. Nighty night for you." Dean laughed.

Sam laughed along at the funny joke Dean had just made. _Dean was a funny guy. Yeah… he was… funny_. _ Wait… where were they going again? _"Dean, man, I am tired. Can we go back to the motel?"

Dean looked down into Sam's eyes, he was still sitting on the bar stool. "Uh… yeah?! That's what I just said genius!" He grunted as he lifted Sam by the arm. "Let's go, Sasquatch." They had walked to town from the motel earlier. Dean now regretted that decision. Sam wasn't a drunken mess, but he was… swaying a bit. The walk to the motel took a bit longer that it should've. Sam kept getting distracted by things like, puppies, shop windows and designer door knockers. That last one was a bit of a challenge, as simply looking at door knockers wasn't enough. Sam wanted to _knock_ them. After the second guy slammed his door in their face, Dean had had enough. He sat Sam down on a bench. "What is going on with you Sam?"

"Nothing is going on with me Dean! I'm just… tired, okay? Can we go back to the motel now?" Sam looked at Dean with tired, sad eyes.

"Yes. Sam. We can go to the motel now. That's the point of this walk, isn't it? Anyway, it's right there. Let's go." Dean said with exasperation.

Sam stood and nearly turned in a complete circle, before plopping back down onto the bench. "Where 'sit?"

Frustrated, Dean grabbed Sam by the arm and heaved him up and forward.

"D… De…Dean?" Sam sounded about five.

"Yes Sam?" Dean said with frustration and a tinge of worry as he hauled Sam into the motel room.

"Are you cold? My h…hands and f…f…feet are cold. They f…f…feel kinda numb." Sam slurred. With that Sam stumbled through the open door and onto his bed.

"Sammy, what the hell? Are you okay?"

Sam mumbled from his pillow, "M'fine. Jus' tired. Gonna sleep now. Ni' De." He was out within seconds.

Dean was getting really worried. What the hell was going on with his brother? Was this some sort of delayed withdrawal symptom? He sat across from Sam on his own bed and just watched him sleep. About four hours later, Sam stirred. Next, he sat up, looking with determination towards the bathroom. Gripping the side of his bed, he stood. Dean watched Sam, curious. Sam seemed unaware that he had an audience. Sam took two steps then crumpled to the floor like a house of cards.

"Sammy? Sam? What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong?" Dean cradled Sam's head in his lap.

Sam opened his dazed eyes; he was having a difficult time focusing. Once he found Dean, he mumbled, "Dean why're we on th'floor?"

"That's it man. Like four hours ago you had ¾ of a beer and you still sound like Ozzy Osbourne! Get up Sammy. We're going to the doctor." Dean helped Sam to his feet. He was still dressed thanks to his immediate swan dive upon returning to the motel hours earlier. Dean helped Sam put on his shoes, then he walked his barely conscious brother to the car.

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Dean sat next to Sam in the ER cubicle. The curtain was pulled, so it was just the two of them. Dean looked at Sam's pale features and sighed. Sam had been sleeping since he put him in the car. He didn't even wake when they put him on a stretcher and took his blood at the ER.

It was about 3 a.m. when the doctor pulled back the curtain. "Mr. Westchester?"

Dean stood up from his seat to shake the doctor's hand. "That's me doc. Call me Dean. What's going on with my brother?"

"Well Dean, it seems that your brother is severely anemic. This accounts for his symptoms and his… odd behavior… that you were describing. His blood counts are too low. We are going to have to give him a transfusion as well as an intravenous treatment. I'll be back with the nurse in a few minutes."

Dean sat down next to Sam and quietly laughed. "Unbelievable Sammy. Well, someone needs to contact Alanis. That's what I call… ironic! Only you. Only you, Sam, can beat an addiction to demon blood and then become severely anemic."

Sam turned his head toward Dean and slowly opened his eyes. He looked confused, which wasn't an unusual look for him lately. "Dean? Why are we here?"

"It's okay Sammy. You were a little sick. The doc is gonna make you better. We just need to top you off a little. You need some blood. You're anemic pal." Dean said as he smoothed Sam's hair.

Sam didn't hear the last sentence. All he heard was that he was going to be given blood. Suddenly Sam curled in on himself and started screaming. "NO! No blood! Dean, don't let 'em! I don't want any blood! Please! Dean, please?! I've been so good. You can't let them do this to me! Why Dean, why?"

"Sam! Sammy, shhhhhh! It's okay. It's okay." Dean leaned closer to Sam's ear. "I didn't say anything about demon blood, brother. You are anemic, man. You need blood from the blood bank."

The doctor came running and pulled back the curtain. Sam screamed and attempted to get out of bed. Dean felt helpless as he held him down and the doctor administered something into Sam's IV. Within seconds Sam calmed. He still cried, looking at Dean. "No blood, Dean. No blood. I'll be good. I'll be good. I won't let you down again." Dean's heart nearly broke as he looked into his little brother's eyes. He looked at the doctor and motioned toward the hall.

"Dean, he's going to be fine. He's just a little confused. That can happen sometimes with severe anemia. I gave him something to calm his nerves. He'll be fine. The blood will be here soon," the doctor said sympathetically.

"Hey, um… listen, doc. My brother and me, we're the same blood type. Any chance you could just use my blood?"

"If you prefer, that's probably fine. We just need to do some tests and then we can take care of this. My nurse will be in to check in on Sam soon. I'll ask her to take a blood sample from you then as well."

"Thanks doc. I appreciate it. I know Sam will too." Dean watched the doctor walk down the hall before returning to Sam.

"Sammy?"

"Hmm?"

"Sammy, it's me. Open your eyes."

"Mmm. Okay. Dean?" Sam looked for Dean through bleary eyes.

"Sam, I need you to listen to me. You still need some blood." Dean said softly.

Sam began to get agitated again, so Dean put one hand on Sam's and the other in his hair. "Sammy, I've asked them to give you my blood."

Sam looked confused. "You… you're gonna give me yours? Why?"

"Why? Seriously, dude? You need blood and we share the same blood, Sam." Dean smiled and ran his hand through Sam's hair again before sitting back down in the bedside chair.

Dean thought that perhaps Sam had fallen back asleep. Then he noticed the tears streaming out of Sam's eyes.

"You… still think we share the same blood?" Sam cried.

Dean leaned over to look directly in Sam's eyes. "Of course we do Sammy. Now get some rest. You'll be feeling a lot better in a few short hours."

The nurse came and went. The tests went fine and soon thereafter they brought a hospital recliner into Sam's cubicle for Dean as he gave blood.

The next time Sam opened his eyes, he saw Dean snoozing at his bedside. He noticed a bright blue bandage wrapped around Dean's arm. He looked at his own hand and followed the snaking IV line up to two bags. One clear, one filled with blood. Dean's blood. He was feeling a lot better. It was sort of like waking up from a long dream. He didn't feel nearly as foggy or tired as before.

Dean seemed to sense the change in the room. He opened his eyes and looked into Sam's. Noticing the clarity that wasn't there before, he said, "Welcome back Sammy."

Sam cleared his throat. "Thanks." Pointing at Dean's arm, he said, "Are you okay?"

"Me? I'm fine. You're the one who needed a fill-up."

"You make me sound like the Impala, Dean"

"You should be so lucky. Anyway, we can get out of here as soon as that second bag is done. They said that the treatment along with the blood should fix you right up." Dean looked down. "You freaked me out again Sam. You've seriously got to stop fainting like a southern belle!"

Sam laughed, then turned serious. "Thanks for what you did Dean. I don't remember a lot, but I do remember being scared. You really know how to calm me down. You really take good care of me, man."

Dean rolled his eyes, ripped off his blue bandage, balled it up and threw it at Sam.

"Gross, Dean!"

Dean smirked. "You think that's gross, just wait 'til we get out of here. I'm taking you out for liver and onions every day this week until you get enough iron back in your blood."

Sam sat up in the hospital bed. "No, nuh uh, Dean. No way!"

"Really Sam? You want to go through all this again?"

"How about you eat the liver and onions every day this week and I'll just 'filler up' again next week?" Sam laughed.

Dean sat back into the chair and sighed contentedly. "No problem Sammy boy. My blood is your blood."


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